


We Were Born Sick

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Disruption of library organization systems, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Semi-Public Sex, Serial Killers, Underage Sex, bottom!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:24:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2930948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is fascinated with Jared, a 16-year-old juvenile deliquent working in the public library. Jared finds all of Jensen's hiding places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Born Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts).



The books are chittering again. Jensen’s in his corner, listening to their hisses and taps and stridulations, watching the way the tomes shake and vibrate. They dance against the edge of the shelves, hard corners rattling against metal. They don’t fall off, though. They never do.

That’s how Jensen knows it’s not real.

He hugs his knees tighter and closes his eyes. He’s in his third favorite place, the wide window ledge in the southeast corner of the library on the second floor. Surrounding him is history, the tail-end of the 900s where all the miscellaneous places get their stories: New Zealand, Australia, Polynesia. The entire 900 section houses the oldest books in the library’s collection, musty and discolored with ancient, plain-colored covers and peeling labels because the library staff can’t bring themselves to throw away or replace them. History doesn’t change.

Jensen takes a deep breath, calming himself with the yellow-edged smell of rot and atrophy. He knows why _he_ likes it - why he enjoys breathing in the hoary aroma of organic matter breaking down - although he’s never understood why anyone else would claim to like the smell of old books who doesn’t also like the smell of death. They’re paper and cloth-covered cardboard, materials prone to decomposition by nature; it only takes a little humidity, a tiny bit of moisture, to bring about mold and decay.

Usually the scent helps ground him, his olfactory senses the only thing he trusts. But sometimes it stimulates too much; makes him see things that his mother and school counselors have told him aren’t real. It doesn’t matter that he can _feel_ needle-thin legs crawling across the hairs of his arms or that he _saw_ dark, iridescent beetles skitter out of the ear of Jennifer Vans when she was sitting in front of him in his sixth-grade math class. They never believe him.

So he stopped telling them.

Even when Jennifer was found a week later on the muddy bank of the creek behind his house. Skull cracked open. Blue eyes staring up into the matching blue sky while insects crawled through red poppies clipped in her hair and in and out of her brains. No one thought his warnings had been real.

When Jensen’s especially anxious, eyes and ears overcrowded with unsortable lies, he’ll sometimes curl up in the bottom shelf of the history section and imagine himself in a graveyard. Lying six feet beneath the wet earth where it’s quiet and warm and dark, and he doesn’t have to wonder about the people in the plots around him.

When Jensen opens his eyes again, there’s a young man standing on the sidewalk in front of the library, hand held up to shade his eyes from the bright sun as he tips back his head to look up the tall, auspicious building. He’s staring at Jensen, and there’s a moment of panic when Jensen thinks about diving to the side, hiding from sight. He almost gives in, doesn’t care if he looks stupid so long as he’s not around to see the judgment on the boy’s face.

But then the boy puts his hand down and smiles, and something warm and tight spreads like creeping vines inside Jensen’s chest at the sight of dimples indented into soft baby cheeks. The boy waves, although Jensen doesn’t wave back, then jumps up the steps to go inside.

*&*

His name is Jared.

Not that Jensen asks. He’s never spoken to anyone in the library, although the staff recognize him, know his name. It’s on his library card - _Jensen Ackles_ \- in neat lettering that had made the librarians pause at first glance, trying to suss out his first name from his last. 

He used to check out books. Large ones with brightly colored pictures of curling nightshade or naked animal skeletal systems. But these days he’s in the library so often that he doesn’t usually bother taking anything home.

He watches the boy throw grins at everyone he meets, laughing with such easy joy that he never gets shushed, not even when his bubbly laughter echoes around the entire building. He grins with his whole body, neck thrown back, pink dimpled cheeks accented by the ridiculous pink scarves he wears nearly every day. Like he’s some fashion model from Europe.

In the spaces between the books and the shelves, Jensen watches the boy. Overhears bits and pieces of why Jared keeps coming back, day after day. _Mandated community service_. The librarians whisper about it to each other, scandalized and awe-stuck. _Juvenile court_. Something about a girl and a tire iron. Although no official charges were pressed.

That alone should make the library staff wary of the newcomer, but Jared’s grin blasts through their mistrust like wet tissue paper. After his first week working in the library, every worker - from the head library director to the part-time janitor - have all fallen for the boy, going out of their way to cross his path, trying to soak up the charisma radiating like sunshine.

Jared is alive in a way that doesn’t make Jensen question it, his lithe, young body filled with the joy of moving and breathing and pumping blood.

*&*

There’s a long bench shoved into a corner behind the bound periodical section that no one (barring stubborn, stuck-in-the-20th-century community college professors) has used since the invention of the internet and JSTOR. It’s Jensen’s second-favorite spot, although it’s on the ground floor, which he usually avoids. Too many cracks and holes and pipes that things can crawl through. He can feel them moving beneath his feet, trying to find a way in, so he draws his legs up on the bench, shuddering at the thought of things with obscene amounts of legs skittering over his toes.

The bulb over the bench is burnt out (a circumstance Jensen may have had something to do with), giving him a false sense of light-muted privacy. Back pressed into the cushion-covered bench, Jensen closes his eyes, drops a hand on the gentle curve of his stomach. Lets it wander around the slope of his hips to slide between his legs. He doesn’t have any plans on how far he wants to take this, although it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done dirty, wet things in the shadowed corners of the library.

Sometimes he’ll rub lightly, letting the heat buzz over his skin; warm, cemetery-dark pleasure that makes his body feel flushed and alive. Other times he’ll spread his legs wide and slutty, shoving his hand inside the band of his pants, filled with pride and adrenaline at how quietly he can do this, gasping into his shoulder and muffling his sounds until they soak wetly through the cotton. He’s often wondered what would happen if one of the librarians found him like that, walked by to see his eyes rolled back from pleasure, hand squelching filthily inside his pants.

His fingers have just touched the button of his jeans when he hears a small cough at his shoulder. Eyes flying open, he turns to see a mirror image of the same young face he’d been envisioning inside his head. He hadn’t seen Jared this closely before, didn’t even know the boy’s eye color, although he still can’t say for certain what it is. Some kaleidoscope mixture of blue and green and gold, irises stubbornly refusing to limit themselves to just one shade.

“Found you,” Jared says with a grin. Jensen’s amused at the playfulness of Jared’s tone, thinks that if this _was_ a game - hide and seek amongst the dusty stacks - Jensen would definitely win. He knows more hiding spaces inside this place than anyone else ever could.

He’d still lose, though. If Jared were looking for him, Jensen would want to lose.

Ignoring the erection straining against Jensen’s zipper, Jared reaches down, plucks the thin glasses from Jensen’s face and puts them on.

“How do I look?” Jared asks, peering down at Jensen through the glass frames, shaking his head so his hair fans out around his face, preening for Jensen. Jensen has to squint for a few seconds to get everything in focus, his sight adjusting.

The glasses frame Jared’s face beautifully, make his eyes brighter, accent the shape of his jaw. Jared looks equally good with or without them, but Jensen likes how studious they make the boy appear.

 _You look perfect_ , Jensen wants to say. He wants to see Jared in more of his things. Thinks about soft flannel sheets sliding against golden-tan skin and around legs that go for miles. Wants to ask Jared if he’d like to come home with him, leading him to his front door like a lost, eager puppy. But the words choke in his throat, clogged like wet leaves in a rain gutter.

Carefully, Jared slides the glasses back onto Jensen’s face, making sure to move the cushioned end pieces over Jensen’s ears. A sudden smile crosses Jared’s face after he settles the nosepiece onto Jensen’s face. He touches the bridge of Jensen’s nose with his fingertip, stroking up and down in a light motion.

Jensen looks up at Jared, questions in his eyes, and Jared laughs and says, “There’s a tiny bump on your nose, right here,” as his finger stops moving to pause where the small upcurve must be.

Jensen already knows about it. Has spent more than a few self-conscious times in the mirror, cataloging his imperfections. But Jared’s grin erases all self-doubt as he fondly traces the tiny hill again before pulling his hand back and walking away.

*&*

Jensen keeps watching Jared. But it’s apparent that Jared knows when he’s watching. Probably because he’s always watching.

Most of the time, Jared’s either cleaning or shelving books. The librarians love how tall he is, how he can reach the highest shelves to dust or change out light bulbs that anyone else would have to grab a stool or ladder to reach. They clap their hands and grin, handing Jared suckers and candy afterwards, blatantly ignoring the signs everywhere that sternly remind patrons: _No food or drinks allowed in the library._

His favorite are gummy worms, and suddenly the entire staff always seem to have overflowing drawers and containers of rainbow-colored candies at their desks. Jensen can’t help but think of how sugary-sweet Jared’s mouth would taste. How the flavor would slide from Jared’s tongue to his if the boy slipped it, soft and candy-red, inside Jensen’s mouth.

One of the younger librarians blushes when she offers Jared treats for helping her with a book display, arranging Romance novels on tablecloth-covered risers like they were pink-frosted cupcakes. She pushes her dark curly hair behind her ears and ducks her head when Jared smiles at her, dimples on display for the whole library to see.

Jensen sucks in a sharp breath when he sees something dark crawl up from behind her neck. He wants to warn her, ask her why she can’t feel tiny legs crawling through the hairs at the nape of her neck. But she’s too busy giggling at something Jared said to notice, and Jensen can’t get the words out.

*&*

The book cart squeaks as Jared rolls it through the aisle. Shuffles slowly through his endless task of reshelving books.

Jensen watches as Jared pauses with a book in his hand, wry grin on his face as he stares down at the cover. From his pocket, Jared flips open a Swiss Army knife and cuts slits in the tape securing the cover to the book. He peels off the outside so the book is naked in his hands.

When the cover flutters over, Jensen can read the title. _The Joy of Gay Sex_. With another quick movement, Jared cuts out another book cover - _Inspirational Bible Verses for Christian Mothers_ \- and switches the jackets. Fiddles with the tape until the covers are secure. Then puts the books back on the shelves. Dimples flashing the whole time.

He does the same thing with a few more books. _Faith: An Amish Romance_ gets turned inside out with _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , then _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ for _The Illustrated Kama Sutra_.

By the end, Jared has to cover his mouth with his hand, giggles threatening to give himself away.

Part of Jensen is horrified at the chaos, the disrupted system. But mostly, he has to stifle laughter as he thinks about an unfortunate soul checking out one of the innocent titles, opening it at home to find hedonism and debauchery inside.

*&*

There’s a wedge of space beneath the stairs, filled with tall plants against a glass window. His fourth favorite spot. This is where Jared finds Jensen the second time.

The pots have been arranged to create a hidden space, a perfect fit for Jensen. His back is against the cool tile as he breathes in and out. His hands are on his stomach so he can feel the steady rise and fall.

When another pair of hands settle on his belly, he startles, sucking in a deep breath and jerking half-way up.

“Found you again, Jensen.” The voice is soothing, edge of a smile caught in the tone, and Jensen’s pulse turns erratic as soon as he recognizes it. Pleasure flutters in his stomach at Jared investigating his name.

“You’ve been watching me,” Jared says in amusement, slotting his knees outside Jensen’s hips as he sinks to the floor. His weight settles around Jensen’s torso. “Why?”

A wry smirk spreads on Jensen’s lips and he shrugs, letting his head fall back so he can stare at the back of the stairs. The zipper of his jeans swells under the feel of Jared’s warm body on his. Any minute now, Jared’s going to feel it. Probably already suspects what’s happening. But some defiant part of Jensen figures that since it’s Jared’s fault, he can decide what to do about it.

Jared lifts himself up, scoots down so he’s straddling Jensen’s calves instead. And for a moment, Jensen’s disappointed. But then Jared lays a wide palm over the pushed-up zipper of Jensen’s jeans and Jensen’s body arches into it.

“You jack off here, too?” Jared asks, tone playful as his fingers draw circles and swirling shapes into the hot denim. Obviously, the boy had realized what he’d interrupted the last time. His fingers flick open the button of Jensen’s jeans, and Jared leans down, his mouth hot and soft as he says, “I bet you have. I bet you’ve touched yourself in every corner of this library.”

It’s somehow still a surprise when Jensen feels Jared’s mouth envelope his cock. Tongue tracing up the side and setting all his nerve endings on fire. Jensen’s arm flails out, knocking over an umbrella tree plant. The clay planter cracks, dirt seeping out the split in its side. When Jensen comes, it’s with the feel of dirt under his fingernails and Jared’s mouth around him, swallowing and constricting as every drop pulsing from Jensen’s dick slides right down Jared’s throat.

He’s still catching his breath, dizzy from his first orgasm induced by something other than his own hand, when Jared slides himself over Jensen. He licks at Jensen’s lips before slipping inside, sharing the bitter saltiness. Underneath it all, though, is exactly what Jensen had expected. Sugar and candy sweetness.

When Jared raises his head, Jensen blinks dizzily at the risers above him. He can hear Jared chuckle, feels fingers straighten his glasses and skate across the ridge of his nose.

*&*

There’s a castle in the far back of the Children’s Section, an extravagant thing with sturdy plastic walls painted to look like grey stone and embellishments of gold and red cloth banners displaying pictures of proud, preening lions.

It’s usually crawling with children climbing, exploring, and using the slide in the back. But storytime ended hours ago. It’s well after dark on a weekday, and Jensen has the place to himself. He’s in one of the side alcoves, hidden from sight, drawing on the pages of a large human anatomy book: red poppies curling between ribs and cartilage, morning glories winding around the left scapula and down the humerus. And, because his sense of humor has always been crude, male reproductive organs on some of the stripped-down skeletons, flushed wet cocks that make Jensen shift his hips as he thinks back to how Jared looked bobbing between his thighs.

He’s unsurprised when Jared finds him there as well. His shaggy head ducks underneath the doorway as he hunches down and joins Jensen on the overstuffed beanbag.

“Looks like I found the right castle, Princess,” Jared comments, earning himself a scowl. Ignoring Jensen’s dark irritation, Jared looks down at the opened book in Jensen’s lap, tracing the curling floral shapes with a reverent finger. “These are beautiful,” he says, and Jensen can’t help the pleased twitch to his lips.

Jared’s finger pauses on the fifth rib down, contemplative before he says, “That’s the rib I broke. On my best friend.”

Jensen raises an inquisitive eyebrow at that, but Jared shrugs. He runs a hand through his mop of hair and huffs out an ironic laugh.

“Well, not my best friend anymore.”

He traces the curved white shape for a long time until Jensen turns impatient. Dropping his book to the floor, he straddles Jared’s lap, slips his fingers into the pink scarf around his neck, and presses his lips against Jared’s soft mouth.

It’s Jensen’s second kiss ever. He’s too eager, too inexperienced. But Jared doesn’t seem to notice, just pulls Jensen closer and works his sugary-sweet mouth into every inch of freckled skin he can reach.

Jensen wriggles and slots himself against Jared until the boy is panting and flushed. A dirty thrill runs up his spine when he feels the hot shape of Jared’s cock against his thigh. 

He wants this too much. His hands shake as he undresses, can’t even get the zipper on his jeans until Jared’s long fingers cover his.

“I’ll ruin you,” Jared warns in a thick breath, even as he’s slipping inside while Jensen’s eyes squeeze shut.

 _That’s what I want_ , Jensen thinks dizzily when Jared starts pumping so sweetly, his dick hot and sticky as it fills up the empty spaces inside Jensen. He doesn’t say it, although he could. Instead, he rocks his hips higher, covers his mouth when he can’t stop the sounds that Jared’s punching out of him.

Jared reaches for Jensen when they’re done, envelopes him inside his arms, then grabs his scarf from where it had fallen to the floor and loops it around Jensen’s neck. Snorting, Jensen picks up the edge of the soft material with a finger, raises a dubious eyebrow.

“It’s salmon,” Jared defends with a wry grin while Jensen rolls his eyes. Pink is pink. But he settles back against Jared’s chest, closes his eyes and dozes until the lights start flickering in warning.

Part of him wishes that Jared would stay there with him, let the lights go out and stay the night. But instead, Jared pulls them both up, helps Jensen gather his flung-off clothes.

*&*

Jared does come back, though. Every day. And always, _always_ finds Jensen.

He grabs him in the poetry section one day, hikes Jensen up against the wall because he knows how much Jensen hates his feet touching the ground of the first floor. Bites his neck while Jensen thrashes, hanging onto Jared’s neck while his cock spears Jensen inside, so full and good. Makes a space for Jared to fit inside.

Jensen had no idea he’d be such a slut for cock. Especially Jared’s, pink and perfect and so thick that Jensen always winces when it first presses in. His face heats up one day when Jared bites the word into his neck, cock blurting out precome so Jared notices, whispers it into his skin over and over again, _slut_ , because it makes Jensen squirm harder.

Jensen, however, is most content when he’s got Jared’s cock shoved between his lips. He loves pulling Jared behind bookcases, into storage closets, inside bathroom stalls before falling to his knees and eagerly fumbling open Jared’s pants.

The fat feel of Jared’s cock on his tongue makes him hum in pleasure, eyes at half-mast in a sleepy way that makes Jared smile and shove his fingers into Jensen’s hair. The taste of Jared shooting down Jensen’s throat - so much sweeter than Jensen’s semen - is almost a disappointment, means Jared’s slippery-wet cock will slide out of Jensen’s mouth as soon as he’s spent. But sometimes, if Jensen whines enough, Jared will laugh and let Jensen suck again, teenage refractory period about five minutes until he’s ready to go again.

*&*

It’s a dizzying feeling to be so completely enamoured with a person. Which is why Jensen feels like the world’s been yanked out from under him when Jared suddenly never comes back.

*&*

He sees Jared in the news soon later, floppy-haired mugshot next to a grim-mouthed news anchor. Headlines scroll across the screen, caps-locked titles about a jealous high school student catching his cheating girlfriend.

The body of the boy Jared’s girlfriend had been cheating with - a boy who had incidentally also been Jared’s best friend - had been found inside Jared’s garage. Wrapped in black garbage bags, his fifth left rib (Jensen can still remember Jared’s finger it pointing out) cracked in two, his skull shattered.

They match the weapon used on the dead boy with a tire iron that Jared had used to smash up his girlfriend’s car, the reason he’d been sentenced to community service in the first place.

Jensen watches the broadcast without reacting. He listens as shocked reporters and late night hosts call Jared a monster. Blame the schools. Blame the parents. Blame video games.

With Jared’s ex-girlfriend crying during her testimony, detailing his jealousy and anger issues, Jared is successfully tried as an adult. Sent away for 20 to life. 

*&*

The day after Jared’s locked away for good, Jensen goes to his favorite place.

He sits down in the mud by the creek behind his house, area marked with stones and bright poppies so he wouldn’t forget. He claws at the wet earth until he finds dark hair and a cardigan. Name tag still clipped on, swirling letters. _Genevieve_. Her pretty face is all streaked with mud, pale and ashen and marked with signs of decomposition.

Hands black with mud, Jensen sits and waits until the police show up.

He never mentions the other bodies littered down the bank, each one marked with stones and poppies.

*&*

The trial lasts forever. But the moment the judge reads off his sentence, Jensen is elated. He counts off the days until he enters the men’s detention center. He’s munching on an apple, food tray in front of him and orange jumpsuit covering his body when he sees a pair of familiar dimples flashing from across the cafeteria. Catches a glimpse of floppy hair and a booming, full-bodied laugh as the boy talks animatedly with his lunch companions, charisma strong even inside here.

Jensen ducks down, keeps himself carefully turned away. Waits until he can get to Jared alone.

It’s almost lights out when he finds the opportunity. Jared’s sitting in his cell, back laid against his bed, foot tapping against the frame, and Jensen slips inside. He smiles at Jared when his kaleidoscope eyes open, watches dimples sink into soft cheeks, and says, 

“Found you.”


End file.
